


'Lost That Right'

by pushupindrag



Series: Dragon!Jaskier AU [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Jaskier | Dandelion, Apologies, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Dragon Jaskier | Dandelion, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Light Angst, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Season/Series 01, Pre-Slash, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23453302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushupindrag/pseuds/pushupindrag
Summary: When Geralt finds Jaskier again, child surprise in tow, Jaskier finds that his draconic heritage makes it especially hard to forgive him.This is the prequel to'My Own'.Jaskier hated destiny. Because it meant that despite everything, no matter how angry he was, he coudldn’t escape the fucking witcher.
Series: Dragon!Jaskier AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683490
Comments: 26
Kudos: 547





	'Lost That Right'

**Author's Note:**

> This is messy and all over the place but! I wanted to give the first work in this series a little bit of context! Also wanted to include Yennefer because I love her even though I don't think I did her justice!
> 
> You don't necessarily have to read the first work in the series ['My Own'.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23196232/chapters/55528219) for this to make sense given that this is a prequel but Jaskier's heritage and being a dragon is more fully explained in that!
> 
> (based on the netflix version)
> 
> Un-beta'd so please let me know if you find any mistakes!
> 
> Come chat to me about these idiots on my tumblr [here!](https://valleyofwitcher.tumblr.com/ask) if you want!

Jaskier hated destiny. Because it meant that despite everything, no matter how angry he was, he couldn’t escape the fucking witcher.

Thankfully, it had just been stories of the witcher a few towns over or long gone, or people asking for songs he couldn’t refuse them. But obviously that could only last so long. He had had two years to stew and run and hide, but eventually, destiny catches up with him.

It’s been two years since Geralt had cast him aside so carelessly and awfully. And here they are again, much like their first meeting. With Jaskier performing at a tavern that Geralt comes into. Except this time, Jaskier is performing to a crowd that had welcomed him warmly, and Geralt seemingly has a child under his arm as he enters the busy room.

Jaskier doesn’t stop playing when their eyes meet, instead he only plays louder and with more gusto, trying to keep the scowl off of his face as he tracks the pair to the bar and then up the stairs.

Well, he was probably sleeping on the road tonight. He would leave as soon as his set finished. Collect his coin and go. He didn’t want to be anywhere near the witcher thank you very much. Never mind stay at the same tavern as him.

But apparently, destiny fucking hates him right back. He’s finished his set, all packed up and leaving, waving off a hot meal but taking the loaf of bread and cheese offered to go. His coin purse is full and he’s out the door without a glance back and-

A hand on his shoulder stops him, a heavy pressure that he knows all too well and Jaskier scowls, batting the hand away as he turns around. Furious. Because Geralt had obviously been waiting for him, had somehow slipped out without Jaskier noticing to wait. And there he stood, fidgeting like a child, frown fixed firmly on his face.

“What?” He growls, taking a small step backwards. Geralt notes this, and the hand that’s still hovering in the air falls to his side.   


“Jaskier.” He’s grimacing, and to Jaskier’s twisted delight it seems like the next words pain him. “I need your help.”

“Oh now you need my help?” He laughs, loud and bitter. Everything he’s wanted to say leaves his head, the dramatic speech he had planned and rehearsed fades to the back of his mind. “Fuck off Geralt. You made it very clear you neither wanted nor needed me. So now if you’ll excuse me, i’m on my way out of town-”

Geralt stops him from barging to the stables to collect his horse with a hand on his arm that Jaskier angrily shakes off. He’s almost shaking from his anger, going to turn and spit something out but Geralt interrupts him.

“I have her. The child surprise.”

“Oh.” Jaskier shakes his head then, hands clenched into fists at his side. Because Jaskier wouldn’t have a chance now to refuse whatever Geralt asked. Not when it came to Princess Cirilla. “You absolute bastard.”

“Jaskier-”

“So you find her. And you come to me for help because?” He knows why, because Geralt can’t raise a child on his own. Can’t help her grow as a person properly with his emotional constipation, so he needed Jaskier.

That pained look again. Fucking good. “Because I can keep her safe. But I can’t do much else.”

“And?” He crosses his arms, fists still clenched, leading them a little away from the tavern. Just in case people were listening.

“You used to go back to the courts. You used to tell me about how she was growing up and how you were getting to know her even when I fucking told you not to.” Geralt wipes a tired hand over his face. “You’re a familiar face. She needs that right now.”

“And?” He prompts again. Because he still hadn’t heard a fucking apology. His inner draconic pride is prickling under his skin, wanting to snap and bite, feel Geralt’s throat under his teeth and bite and hurt and maim.

But he pushes that down. Because while he was angry, that wasn’t him. He was better than that, but it didn’t stop the prickling in his skin, the heat in his gut that wanted him to let go and just fucking roar fire in Geralt’s face, burn him to the fucking ground.

Because here he was, a full two years later. Brazenly asking for things without an apology first. Not that Jaskier would accept it. He had dedicated decades to the man before him, helped whenever he could. Elevated his status within the population to something people would praise instead of scorn. He had never asked for thanks for it, never any recognition. He had just been a friend. And he had gotten the angry and messy outburst in return. Full of venom that reeked of Geralt meaning what he said. Jaskier deserved better and he knew it.

No matter how much his heart still ached with love for the man in front of him, he wasn’t going to run straight back into his arms. Geralt didn’t fucking deserve him.

“And, i’m sorry.” Geralt’s not looking at him, eyes somewhere above his left shoulder and Jaskier snorts, barely suppressing the smoke that would curl around them if he hadn’t. Angrily, unable to stop himself, he grabs Geralt’s jaw, turning it so they’re looking eye to eye.

“I’m not doing this for you.” He snarls, enjoying the way Geralt’s eyes widen in surprise and shock. He doesn't grip too hard, doesn’t let his nails sharpen into their claws like his mother would.   
  
“Let me know when you want to apologize properly.”

He let’s go. Refusing to be like his mother in his actions and watches as Geralt moves his jaw, working it a little with his hand before nodding.

“She’s upstairs.”

“Lead the way.”

-

When Ciri sees him she gasps, springing up from the bed and straight into his arms.

“JASKIER!”

“Hello my dear.” He mutters into her hair, rocking her as he feels Geralt’s eyes on his back.

Fuck Geralt. “How are you coping?”

“I am.” It’s a short statement, but she sounds grim. But her words ring true, because she’s confident and Jaskier can smell she’s not lying. “Safer now than before.”

“Well that’s what Geralt is good at.” He doesn’t make a snide comment like he wants. About Geralt not being good at people, at apologising, at being kind either apparently. Because Ciri doesn't need to hear any of that.

“Are you coming with us?” Their familiarity isn’t as strong as it would be if he had been a resident bard at Cintra. But he had been there most years since her growing up for banquets and birthdays and parties. Enough so that she knows him, feels comfortable with him. And he knows that right now she needs it.

“I am, if Geralt permits it.”

“That’s why we came looking for you.” Jaskier looks back in time to see Geralt shrug, arms folded and closed off and Jaskier sneers, unable to stop himself since Ciri can’t see.

“Well, you found me. Took you long enough but you did.”

Geralt just frowns and looks away. “We leave tomorrow.”

“Okay.” He turns back towards Ciri. “How about a lullaby before we sleep?”

-

They’ve only been travelling for a few weeks when it starts. Or well, it’s what Jaskier assumes is Geralt trying to start apologising. Not with words, because of course not. But with a small pile of buttercups and dandelions left by his bedroll for when he wakes up.

“Ciri?” He had asked, looking over to the girl who was still asleep, and then his eyes had fallen to Geralt who was sitting up across the fire, looking at the floor and refusing to look up.

“Hm.” He was insulted to think Geralt thought that was enough. So he ignores them and turns back over to get another half hour of sleep.

Their month had been spent in a cold state. Jaskier only spoke to Ciri, letting Geralt get on with things. He was still hurting bitterly, his dragon pride not letting him back down. But he also knew he deserved better than stilted words not even said to his face. So he was waiting it out until Geralt apologised properly. With words.

The waiting hurts though, because deep beneath it all he was still hopelessly in love. How could he not be? But he did have some self preservation instincts no matter what Geralt or anybody else said. So he wouldn’t say anything. Probably never would. Although part of his reason now was pettiness. It was still better to keep that information to himself. It was hard to shake a love you had felt for decades.

But it was obvious Geralt only wanted him there for Ciri’s sake.

Even though he had shunned them though, Jaskier’s treacherous heart desperately hoped that the small gesture was the turning point for Geralt actually wanting him there.

-

The next gesture is a little bigger. More obvious. And again, it’s something he wakes up to. Because apparently Geralt couldn’t act when he was awake.

Waking up warm and cozy is something he’s not used to on the road, so he’s surprised when he wakes up comfortably warm and surrounded by a surprisingly soft fabric. Reaching out, eyes still closed, he takes a subtle sniff as he feels the coarse outer layer of the fabric. It was Geralt’s cloak.

Oh.

He remembers once, telling Geralt that he could never get warm enough. They’d only been travelling together for a short while. And he had been shivering, both somewhere in the mountains riding on Roach. Even holding onto Geralt hadn’t given him enough warmth.

He was never able to get warm enough when he was in his human form.

After the seventh time he had complained, Geralt had huffed and stopped Roach. And really, Jaskier had thought he was going to get kicked off, but no. Geralt had just grunted, taken off his cloak and then thrown it around Jaskier’s shoulders. And without waiting for a word of thanks or question, had clicked at Roach and they had rode on.

After that Jaskier had gotten his own cloak, a good warm one. But on especially cold nights before they had given in and started sharing a bedroll, he would wake up under Geralt’s cloak as well as his own.

And now they weren’t sharing a bedroll anymore well, he must have been shivering.    
  
Infuriatingly, the smell of Geralt surrounding him is still comforting. A soft smell of sunshine fresh fields in his nose that calms his brain and makes him feel as though he needs to look out for the storm that had passed. Leaving nothing but the sunshine in its wake.

Growling to himself, he snuggles into the fabric further. Chasing the memories and hates himself for it. Because they had been travelling for a month now. And Geralt still hadn’t apologised. Still hadn’t said anything. Their conversations were still short and one worded. Stilted and angry. At least on Jaskier’s end.

He deserved a proper apology. Not just a few gestures and occasionally pleading looks when Geralt thought he wouldn’t notice. But that doesn’t stop him from taking all the comfort he could. Because he was still so desperately in love. He positively ached with it. 

With this in mind, he can at least acknowledge that Geralt was trying. But he needed to try harder before Jaskier’s instincts would ease his pride and let them go back to normal.

-

“C-Fiona my dear.” It’s hard to call her by her alias when they’re out in the woods. The tree line always gave a false sense of security. “You really need to brush your hair.”

It was a tangled mess on top of her head, hastily pulled back with a piece of ribbon Jaskier had removed from his chemise and she looks up, face covered in blood droplets as Geralt taught her how to skin and cook a deer properly.

“But-”

“I meant after this. There’s a stream nearby, you should probably wash the blood away once you’re done.” He looks over to Geralt too, who is similarly covered. “The pair of you.”

Geralt grunts, and Ciri nods. Good.

He waits until they’ve finished up. Fresh pelt drying out as well as most of the meat for rations to be used later.

“Alright come on, both of you. Up. Roach, look after the campsite.” Standing, he herds both of them to the stream not ten meters away. Grabbing two spare blankets as he goes so they can dry themselves as well as some soap that he throws directly at Geralt’s head as they stand by the water.

Geralt catches it with a grunt, glaring. It takes everything in Jaskier not to smirk right back.

“Now both of you. Into the water. You’re disgusting.”

“Fuck off.” Geralt growls, but he hands Ciri the soap before turning his back to give her some privacy and Jaskier does the same.

“I’ll be at the camp. Ciri, make sure he washes his hair properly.” And with that, he walks back. Because somebody had to watch over the camp, even if they weren’t too far.

“Not that you don’t do a good job girl.” He mutters to Roach, going over to get his hairbrush and a few strips of leather out of his pack that’s next to her. “But i’de rather you didn’t get hurt by a stray wolf or something. Especially with all this meat curing.” He pats her flank and then goes to get her specific brush from Geralt’s pack. May as well brush all of their hair.

It’s nice and quiet as he goes about the job of brushing through Roach’s mane. Talking to her quietly all the while, getting a few affectionate head butts here and there as he works out the tangles and plaits it neatly into one big braid.

“To keep it off your face.” He explains when he finishes up, petting her neck fondly. “We’ve got a long ride tomorrow.” She huffs at him, getting him to smile. “Hm, think you can talk some sense into Geralt while you’re at it?” He can still hear them both splashing in the stream so he’s free to talk. “I’m tired of being angry.”

He gets a not so gentle headbutt for that. And he knows he deserves it. “Yes yes you’re right. I should let it go. But pride and all that.” She snorts at him and he can’t help but chuckle. “You’re right. As always.”

“Seriously, do we all talk to Roach as if she’s human?” He turns around to Ciri there, dressed again with her hair hanging around her shoulders.

“We do. Because Roach deserves all the love and attention. She’s smarter than all of us combined too.” He gives her one last pat before turning fully, human hair brush in hand as he gestures for Ciri to sit on one of the logs. “Now, let me brush your hair.”

“Okay. Oh, here’s the ribbon.” He hands it over in two pieces and Jaskier just stares as she places it into his hand. “Geralt had to cut it out, it was too stuck.”

“Okay, i’m going to do your hair today. And then i’m teaching you how to do it on your own too. That was from my good chemise.” It’s strange how quickly he’d forgotten she was a princess. But here was another indication that she had been. So used to other people doing her hair for her. Well, at least now he had two hair ties instead of the one. Even if they were a little short, he’d make do.

Geralt grunts from behind him, and he manages not to jump. Instead he turns, pointing the brush threateningly. “You’re next.”

It was a show of, something. It all depended on if Geralt let him.

Turning back to Ciri where she’s seated, he starts brushing her hair. It really is a rats nest, not having been brushed for however many weeks. And apparently whenever he’d seen her do it, she hadn’t been doing it well enough for it to not be one big mess.

Chatting, trying to distract her from the pain he knows is coming. Years of having his hair kept long and brushed by his mother. He takes it in one hand and starts to pull the brush through, apologising every third word as she winces and pulls away.

“If you’re going to keep being a feral child we may have to cut it.”

“Urg.” That’s not as big a protest as he thought it would be.

“Not all of it. But maybe to your shoulders.” He runs his fingers through it thoughtfully, and is about to say something else but is cut off by a grunt.

“Jask, leave it for now.” Jask. Something he had used to call Jaskier when he was tired, in pain. Needing friendship or a warm word.

“You don’t get to call me that.” He whirls around, blood going cold in his veins to see Geralt watching them. Anger heats in his gut once again. He’d been okay, keeping his anger and discomfort under wraps for the most part. But Geralt thought he could call him something so soft and personal, after everything he had done? It breaks his control. “You lost that right on the mountain.”

He stares Geralt down, brush held out and accusingly. Geralt just meets his gaze, before breaking and looking away with a tiny nod. Good.

“Hmm. Now Fiona, do you want me to cut it now with a dagger? Or later on in a town when I can acquire scissors?”

“Scissors.” She doesn’t say anything about what just happened. Always the smartest one out of them.

“Alright, well for now i’ll just braid it.”

The rest of the evening is spent in near silence.

-

When they get to a city, Geralt leaves them at an inn to take care of a job.

“Well, shall we go shopping?” It’s only early afternoon. And Jaskier still had money left over from the last town that didn’t need to be spent on food currently. And sure, they should be saving. But Ciri had been looking down the past few days and he wanted to cheer her up.

She perks up at that. “Can we find a bakery?”

“Of course we can.” And with that, they put on their shoes and leave into the hustle and bustle.

It’s something Jaskier hasn’t missed. No matter extroverted he was, the way people look and leer at them as they walk by makes his skin crawl. Even with Ciri in her usual disguise of a hat and cloak. He tries not to worry about it. Knowing people would be looking anyway. They’re new faces, of course they would be. 

Everything is loud too. Far too loud, noises and smells from everywhere all at once. At Least in taverns he can busy himself with playing, with performing. While he’s out in the street’s he doesn't have a distraction. Not even watching for Ciri is enough, as to do that he has to be aware of everything.

Ciri links her arm through his his, following her nose and tugging him along. And he lets himself be dragged.

After getting pastries from the bakery they window shop for a while. Jaskier drools over pretty notebooks that he can’t afford with a notebook still only half full in his bag, and Ciri picks out a pair of pants to wear that he winces when paying for but doesn’t protest about.

He just wouldn’t eat for a week. It would be fine.

-

When Geralt returns from the job that evening, covered in blood and grunting about a ‘fucking wyvern’, Jaskier goes tot he bar to order him a bath to be sent up, out of habit. And hates himself when he does. Pushing that down though, he goes back to performing, watching as Geralt takes Ciri upstairs with him with barely a nod.

It’s hard to keep even then, knowing that they’re both upstairs and probably settling in for the night. Because even while he was angry, he desperately wanted to keep them both safe. And his heart still ached. No matter how much he tried to ignore it.

Pushing that aside, he stays downstairs for three more hours. Singing himself hoarse. City taverns always did pay well, so he was going to give them a show. Especially if he wanted to make up for the purchases they had made earlier that day. All out of his own pocket too mind.

Not that he begrudges it. He’d get anything for the girl. In the month and a few weeks he’d known her he had grown extremely protective. His dragon instincts wanting to wrap her in blankets and keep her safe forever. His regular instincts just wanted to keep her safe. So he wasn’t going to stop the dragon instincts this time. His constant watchfulness and over caution would come in handy with keeping her protected.

Still though, he’s glad they’re in a city so he can make the money back. Not all of it. Not enough that he could eat for a few days. But it didn't matter. She was safe and warm and better disguised. 

Once he’s finished, throat hurting but tired in the best way, he makes his way back upstairs.

Unsurprisingly, both are asleep. Although Geralt bolts up when Jaskier opens the door, hands going to his swords under the bed and Jaskier shushes him.

“It’s just me.” He’s too tired for insults. So he goes over to the pile of blankets he had claimed as his bed in the corner.

It’s nowhere near a nest like he wants. But it would do. They didn’t know he nested. Neither had asked though why he hadn’t complained when Geralt and Ciri had claimed the beds, and he was thankful for that.

Geralt looks at him for a second and watches as he locks the door before lying back down, pulling the covers over his head and turning his back which Jaskier takes as cue to ignore Geralt right back and start sorting himself for bed.

He grabs his pack, rifling through it for his sleep clothes and extra blanket and stops when he feels a square of unfamiliar fabric.

Hesitantly, he pulls it out, having the soft fabric unfold in his hands and he gasps. It’s a chemise, a new one. One much like his old one, but the strings in the front are intact and the front is a lot more delicately embroidered. Swirling floral pattern in white against the fabric subtle and raised as he runs his fingers over it. It’s beautiful. And something he definitely hadn’t put in there himself. And Ciri wouldn't have time to buy it, she hadn’t left his side while they were shopping.

So it must have been Geralt.

Another gift. No note. Obviously. And he knows he should return it. Rip it to shreds in front of Geralt’s eyes.

But it’s nice, and it obviously cost a lot. And his pride, oh how his draconic pride preens at the thought of wearing such finery. His anger and pride, as well as the traitorous swell of his heart at the action war messily in his chest so much he feels sick with it, kneeling on the floor and holding it.

In the end, he decides to keep it. But he puts it back in his bag for later. It would be a waste to get rid of it. But he wouldn’t show his gratitude for it. Oh no. Geralt would have to do more. Gifts weren’t an apology.

Although, he thinks, as he gets into his makeshift bed, they were certainly helping.

-

It’s another week or two when they’re back on the road when he hears them. They must think he’s asleep. Lying tucked up in his bedroll on the opposite side of the fire.

“Why is Jaskier so mad at you?” She’s whispering, but she’s not as sneaky as she likes to think she is.

There’s a pause, then a gruff and sharp “Leave it Ciri.”

And she does. Probably shocked, given that that was the first time he had spoken so harshly to her. He bristles under the blanket but leaves it. The anger and refusal in his voice makes Jaskier’s heart crack. Well then.

-

When Geralt announces that they’re heading to Kaer Morhen for the winter, no more progress has been made to either apologise, or forgive. On either of their parts. And it had already been another month. Both were stubborn.

Jaskier knows he could be trying harder, should be for Ciri’s sake. But he really can’t bring himself to.

It’s Ciri who asks where they’re going when Geralt leads them straight past a town. Or well, it was more of a village.

“We’re headed north.” He directs it to Jaskier who's walking by his side, only Ciri on Roach. And Jaskier snorts.

“Well that I gathered.”

“Yes, but where north?” Ciri’s tired, the day growing darker as it turns to dusk.

“Kaer Morhen. We’re going there for the winter. You need to be trained.”

“Oh. Okay!” Ciri smiles, sleepy. And closes her eyes, trusting Roach to keep her upright as she lays across her neck.

“We?” Jaskier asks under his breath, looking out of the corner of his eye to find Geralt staring straight ahead.

“Hmm.”

“Does we include me? Or not this time either.” The idea of being cooped up with Geralt for three months hurts. Both his pride and his aching heart.

“You can do what you want.” The flippant remark makes his mind up for him.

It’s a snap decision. Once that he knows he’ll regret later on. But Geralt is still staring straight ahead, steadily walking. And despite his early attempts at, what Jaskier assumes is reconciliation. He looks so uncaring now.

And Jaskier knows that this is just how Geralt looks. How bad he was with feelings. Fuck, it had taken him a decade to fully be able to disipher and understand Geralt properly. And he wants to tap back into that, find his apology between his hums and grunts, take the presents for what they are.

But no. His dragon instincts clutch at his throat, the back of his mind. He needed words.

“Well. I guess i’ll split off when we get close enough. Earn some coin for when you get back so Ciri doesn’t have to spend the beginning of spring out in the cold.”

Geralt just grunts. So it’s decided.

-

They stop at two separate towns before they get to the mountain where Kaer Morhen resides. In both, Geralt gets jobs that leaves them with enough coin afterwards when paired with what he makes from his performances that Ciri starts whining.

“You can come with us! Please! We have enough money!” They’re only half a day away from the town nearest Kaer Morhen.

“Ah Fiona i’m sorry. But to be able to afford inns we’ll need a decent bit more. And i’de rather we stay at inns when you return to me so as not to have to brave the last of the winters cold.”

He doesn’t want to leave her. Even though he knows that she is the safest with Geralt. No matter how much he was hurting, he could admit that his were the safest hands she could be in.

“Oh please, I don’t mind! You can make more money while we travel!”

“Ah no my dear. You’ll be so busy with training. I may as well earn us some coin while you’re both so busy. What would I do in a witcher keep other than get in the way?”

He looks to Geralt at that, eyebrow raised, and some vindictive little draconic part of him grins when Geralt refuses to meet his eye.

Doing that though disgusts him. Because while he wasn’t happy, was still waiting for an apology. He never wanted to be that person. No matter how unhappy he was. He wasn’t vindictive or spiteful. Maybe it was because he was heartbroken. But that wasn’t an excuse.

Berating himself, he shakes himself out of it. Geralt, no matter how much of an asshole he had been. Didn’t deserve Jaskier to be like that.

His vindictive spite was reserved for Valdo Marx only thank you very much. He was the only fucker that deserved it.

Geralt however, didn’t. Even though he had lashed out, still hadn’t apologised. He had been, at least somewhat trying. And that had to count for something. Jaskier desperately hoped it counted for something.

But his anger again won over, desperately fighting against his pride and losing.

It had kept him safe this long after all, why would now be any different?

“No, i’de only get in the way.” He reiterates. And Ciri drops the subject.

It’s not a tearful goodbye when they part ways. Thankfully.

“See you soon sweet pea. I’ll just be in the town we passed waiting okay?” He mutters into Ciri’s hair when she throws herself off of Roach and into his arms. She nods against his chest.

“Okay. soon.”

“Soon.” He kisses her hair and lets go. Turning to Geralt.

Now would be the best time to say something, to ask for an apology maybe. It had been three months. Three months of them being silent and living in discomfort with one another. He clenches his hands at his side, words caught in his throat. It felt like he was being sent away again. And his pride gives way to a wave of sadness that washes over him.

He hated this mix of emotions. But seeing Geralt standing just as awkwardly lessens something in him, just a little.

“See you.” He says, when he’s sure Geralt isn’t going to say anything and oh it tastes bitter on his tongue. 

Going to turn away, just him and his lute again, he yelps when a strong hand on his arm turns him around and he’s pulled into a quick and brief hug before he’s left to stumble back.

And then he has to watch them go, without another word for explanation. And they have long disappeared into the woods before Jaskier turns around and goes back to town. His heart heavy and confused.

-

The distance makes his head clear a little. He’s able to play songs about his heartbreak, travelling between the two closest towns on a weekly basis that both seem to appreciate. Playing slow, drawling ballads about heartache that get him coin. Although he thinks it’s mostly out of pity rather than his talent.

He plays faster songs too, angry and defensive, and it’s an outlet that he lets use until the anger and pride has all but vanished. Spitting angry lyrics to a crowd of willing patrons who stomp along with him is therapeutic in the way he remembers and he lives for it. Playing until the anger in his heart softens, and then lessens until it’s nothing but a small ember of a feeling in his chest.

That was when he had turned to heartbreak, letting that wash over him in waves until he was drowning it in. Although that feeling doesn’t leave him like the anger had.

With the separation and lonely nights, it gives him time to think. All alone, curled up in his nest of a bed. 

He knows he could have tried harder to forgive. Because he had been by that mans side for decades, he knew how he worked. How he displayed his emotions, said things without actually saying them. His anger had blinded him to the start of Geralt’s apology. But, that didn’t cancel out the fact that he hadn’t apologised properly. And Jaskier knew he deserved that at least. Still though, he could have tried harder. Gone back to how they were quicker, been a little softer.

Because now, he was regretting not going with them to Kaer Morhen. It wasn’t just Ciri he was missing. Already so attached to the girl. But he missed Geralt too. Because of course he did. How could he not? He was so stupidly in love and he hated it. Hated how he was pining, how whiny he was.

At least his unrequited love was good for business.

-  
  
Yennefer finds him mid-winter. He’s in the town closest to the base of the mountain where Kaer Morhen resides. He’s just finished his set for the night, sweat sticky on his back despite the colder temperature, and he’s huddled into a corner, drinking his ale and ready to go to his room for the night. “You reek of sadness bard” She comes up to him, catching him unexpectedly and never one for proper introductions. He scowls at her, not looking up from his drink.

“If you’re looking for Geralt he’s not here”

“I’m not, actually. Well I am. But not him specifically. No. Right now i’m looking for his child surprise.”

“Oh?” He looks up, eyes narrowed instinctively at the thought of anyone looking for Ciri and she waves her hand dismissively, sitting heavily opposite him.

“Put your teeth away. I got a letter from Geralt. Saying she needed my help with training.”

“Oh.” Ofcourse. Geralt would always need her, reach out to her. He knew that. “Then why are you bothering me?”

“Because for once, we have something in common.” She grimaces at that. And he keeps to himself that they have a lot more in common than probably either of them realise.

The barman comes over, holding two more tankards that he puts onto the table, obviously smitten with the witch although she dismisses him with a wave of her hand.

“A drink. For us both. To our shit luck.”

“To our shit luck.” Jaskier doesn’t ask. Just clinks their mugs together.

“Is that all?” He asks, once they’ve both drunk deeply and she shakes her head.

“No. Look. If anybody was going to get absolutely plastered with me over that shit stain of a witcher it would be you. So here I am.”

“All before you go back to see him?”

“I need to get it all out before I face him. Bastard.” He clinks their mugs together again at that.

“Bastard he is.”

“And yet you still love him. At Least i’ve gotten over that.” Had she? Had Geralt gotten over it? Probably not. Jaskier was destined to die alone and unloved.

Apparently he’d had more to drink than he’d realised. If he was thinking like that.   


“Can you not go into my mind, thank you.” He hisses and she smirks.

“Oh I didn’t need to, to know that.” She drinks then, deeply once again. “You wear your emotions oh so visibly. It sort of gives me a headache.”

“Thanks.”

“Anyway. I’m here to drink and bitch.”

“What nobody else to do that with?” It’s the wrong thing to say because her eyes cloud over, attitude dropping just slightly and he back tracks.

Because while he enjoyed sniping with her and didn’t really like her. He didn’t actually want to hurt her. Especially when he knew his feelings came out of a place of jealousy.

“Or i’m assuming it’s more you’ve seen my bitchy nature and know i’m the only one up to the job?”

She takes the offering. “Exactly.” 

“Well then I guess i’m here. Even though we both know we don’t like one another.”

“Do we not? Or were we both just jealous?” It’s odd to have somebody speak so openly and forthright. He likes it, the simplicity.

The implication of Yennefer being jealous throws him though.

“It was jealousy on my end.” He admits. For lack of anything else. If he lied she’d know. So there was no point.

“And mine.” And oh. Okay. That was unexpected. She says it so openly though, shrugging a delicate shoulder.

“Do I dare ask why you were jealous of me? Or shall we save that for when we go to your house and have a sleepover and braid each other's hair?”

“Hair braiding later. We’re here to drink.” She smiles at that, which is odd but something Jaskier thinks he could get used to.

“Fair enough.” He waves a hand. “Bitch away.”

And they both do.

Neither cry, but they do drink a lot more, words getting angrier, maybe louder. It’s therapeutic. They spend hours, and coin. And distantly, Jaskier thinks that this might be the first step in getting them to properly tolerate one another. Maybe even become friends.

-

He wakes up the next morning on the floor in his room upstairs. And it takes him a few seconds to realise why he’s woken up. Something was poking him in the side.

“Blerg.” He rolls over, scowling up at Yennefer from where she was sitting on the bed, poking at him with her toe.

“Finally woken up.”

“No thanks to you.”

“I need food and a proper chat before I head off. Come on. Downstairs.”

“Urrg.” He rolls over.

“I thought you could hold your drink.”

“Fuck off.” His head hurts too bad to even register the jab or her teasing tone that reeked of the fact that she knew about his heritage. He knew she knew, that wasn’t a surprise. And she hadn’t hurt him yet. So he ignores it. Ignores the panic that rises in his throat and write it off as the hangover instead.

“Hmm.” He looks back over his shoulder at her smirking and he growls. She just smirks even further though, standing up. “Ten minutes bard.”

“Fuck off.” Her laughter follows her out of the door.

He takes a few minutes to collect himself. Stretching and standing, rubbing at his eyes and aching back. Unlike Geralt would have, Yennefer hadn’t thought to give him a blanket. Shaking the cold from his bones, he dresses properly and as warmly as he can before heading downstairs once again after making sure his lute is safe in the corner where it usually was.

The smell of food greets his growling stomach as he winds himself through the tavern tables to where Yennefer is seated, two full plates in front of her.

“So.” She doesn’t even wait until he sits down, but she does push one of the plates his way. “Tell me about the child surprise.”

“Well. Her name is Fiona. And keep your voice down.” He thinks though, as loudly as he can.

_ ‘Her name is Ciri. She’s on the run from Nilfgaard. She’s the Lion Cub of Cintra.’ _

He’s unsurprised to hear her own voice in his head. Although he instantly hates it. The feeling of somebody else inside his head.

_ ‘Well that I knew. No. What about her magic? Her likes, dislikes, that sort of thing.’ _

_ ‘She screams sometimes. _ ’ 

It had only happened once or twice, when she was gripped with a nightmare. She’d wake up, shout on her tongue before the earth practically moved under their feet with her voice. It had stopped quickly though, as soon as she had woken up, shouting apologies with tears streaking down her face while Jaskier scrambled up to hold her. Ignoring the campsite that was in disarray.   


_ ‘It could destroy everything in its path if she trained correctly.’ _

_ ‘Good to know. _ ’ She’s eating slowly, says something he doesn’t catch but he grunts at. Got to act as if they weren’t talking inside his head.

_ ‘She likes sweets, pastries. That sort of thing. Hates being cold. She likes when you sing to her.’ _

_ ‘That might only extend to you. But thank you. I’ll keep it in mind.’ _

“So.” He switches to speaking. “Are you making a move soon?”

“Hmm yes, I have to be there later tonight.”

“Tell everyone I said hello when you get there.”

“Hmm. I will. And don’t worry. I’ll kick your oaf in the balls for you.”

“What?” His head jerks up and she laughs, delighted.

“You don’t remember asking?”

“No?”

“You asked me to, what were your words? ‘Kick that bastard in the balls for me for breaking my heart he fucking deserves it’. Yes, that’s what you said.”

“Yennefer!”

“Well you did ask!”

“Urg.” He sighs. “If you do it, don’t do it in front of Fiona.”

She just smiles then, patting him not so gently on the arm before they go back to their breakfasts.

When she leaves it’s with another smirk, and without a goodbye. Swanning through the portal in her lovely deep blue dress and with that familiar spark of magic that reverberates through his skin as it dissipates.

What a weird night. 

He shakes it off and goes back into the tavern. Ready for a nap and then his set later on that evening. Trying very hard not to think about the last few hours.

-

The weeks performing are kind to him. He even makes friends with the tavern owners in each of the villages. Gaining free rooms and food on the slower days. And he gets very close with the barmans daughter in the town closest to Kaer Morhen. Not in any way other than platonic of course, he wanted to keep in everybody’s good favour.

But she eats with him when he goes downstairs to. And she fills him in on all the gossip of the town.

“Hmm. Witchers come here every so often.” She divulges while talking over lunch. “Mainly for vegetables, some herb supplies if they’re desperate.”

“And why are telling me this?” He asks, mouth full of bread and she laughs.

“Because I heard you the other night with the woman, the stunning one. Both complaining about a witcher. And I wanted to see if it was one of the ones who visit.”

“Oh.” He knows he’s blushing. And she laughs again at what he thinks is his mortified expression.

“Hmm. Well, what does he look like? So I can be on the look out. Maybe give him a few stern words for breaking both your hearts.”

“Beautiful.” It slips out, brain too stunned to lie or even try and be subtle. “Fuck. Uh. White hair. Built like a brick shit house. Constant frown.”

She smiles at him indulgently, and he can see her remembering it all. “Marnie please don’t say anything. He wouldn’t do anything, he’s not violent with people unless they deserve it but I really don’t think my pride could take it.”

She huffs. “He’d deserve it.” Tossing her hair over her shoulder she frowns. “He hurt our most favourite performer. How dare he!”

“He’s emotionally constipated. It happens.” He shrugs. “You probably won’t see him anyway. He’s a recluse. Probably won't leave the keep.”

She huffs, but goes back to her lunch. “Fine. But if he shows his face, i’m raising hell.” 

And oh if she wasn’t taken by the local blacksmith's daughter and he wasn’t stupidly in love with Geralt he just knows he’d fall in love with her, just for that comment.

‘Hey, it was my fault too. Towards the end. He tried to apologise but I kept pushing it off.”

“That pride you were talking about?” She raises an eyebrow and he nods.

“I have too much of it. But he only said ‘sorry’ looking blankly over my shoulder. His other attempts were gifts. And I don’t think my forgiveness should be bought.”

“No, that’s true. But he was trying at least?”

“He was.”

She hums, dragging her bread through the gravy on the plate. “Do you want to forgive him?”

“Yes.” It’s out of his mouth before he can think about it, and finds that it’s true. “I’m tired of being angry.” And oh, he’d had this conversation with Roach. Huh.

“Well then, personally.” She points with her bread before stuffing it in her mouth. “I’de wait for a proper spoken apology. But I think the anger is just something you need to let go. What happened anyway?”

“Oh.” He hadn't told her. “We were on a hunt, and the witch, Yennefer, her name is, broke up with him because he tied them together by destiny accidentally and she didn’t like not knowing if her feelings were hers or not. So, after that, I went up to him, tried to make him feel better and he lashed out at me. Said that if life gave him one blessing it would be to take me off his hands. So I left. After a decade.” He fudges the number there. “Oh travelling with him and being a friend. He told me to leave so I did.”

“That’s sad.” She rests her chin in her hand, thinking it over. “But if he said that in anger, I don’t think he meant it. People say a lot of stupid things when they’re angry.”

“You didn’t see his face.” He shrugs. “And I deserve better than to be spoken to like that. But, I have been stubborn about it. Not taking his gestures as well as I should. He was never a man of many words.”

“No.” She mulls it over. “I say accept if he actually says it. You miss him desperate enough to. And if he says it well, if he’s not a man of many words then i‘m assuming he’ll mean it.”

“That’s true.”

“At Least tell him how you feel. Then you can finally move on. Sing something a bit happier.”

“Brat!” He gasps, throwing his napkin at her and the subject changes. But it gives him a lot to think about.

-

He dwells on it.

-

When the winter finally bleeds into spring Jaskier finds himself waiting every night for the duo to appear. He’s restless, wanting to see the girl again, protective instincts wanting to make sure she was okay. And he wanted to see Geralt too, to apologize for his behaviour before asking for an apology, one he knew he deserved. 

If he didn’t get one, he had decided to move on. He didn’t want to succumb to his anger anymore, and he wanted his heartache to lessen. Geralt would do fine with the girl on his own, especially with Yennefer now on the scene. He would check up on Ciri when he could. But he couldn’t subject himself to the torrent of emotions he had been feeling anymore. He had felt feral with them, and he hadn’t liked that feeling.

They don’t keep him waiting long. As soon as the snow thaws, they’re there at the tavern door, and Ciri instantly throws herself at him from where he’s sitting with Marnie.

“Oh sweet pea hello!” He croons into her hair, standing and swinging her from side to side as he hugs her, almost heard enough to bruise. He doesn't though, just holds her as tightly as he can without hurting her, letting her heartbeat chase his anxiety over her away. She was here, and she was safe. And that’s what mattered.

“Marnie.” He grins. “This is Fiona. Geralt’s daughter.”

“Well hi there.” Marnie grins, holding a hand out that Ciri solemnly shakes. “Thank you for lending us your bard. He’s been keeping us laughing all winter.”

“We missed him.” Ciri says, but she smiles shyly. “I like your braids. Geralt can’t braid. I missed Jaskier doing it.”

“Oh well I can do it. I’m sure I have some nice ribbon somewhere too if you’d like.” He watches as Ciri thinks this over, still distrustful of people no matter how sweet she came across and glances to him. He just nods, and then she slowly nods too.

“Okay. Thank you.”

“I’ll be back in two ticks then.”

She gets up, sliding past Geralt who had just been standing there silently, and when Jaskier catches his eye he motions his head towards the door.

“Jaskier."

Jaskier just nods. “Alright Ci-Fiona.” He trips up and cringes a little. “Marnie’s lovely I promise. Just give me and Geralt five minutes okay?”

She nods, overly eager with a glint in her eye that Jaskier instantly doesn't trust given it spoke entirely of mischief.

“Okay.”

“Hm.” He raises an eyebrow but she just looks up at him innocently and he gives up. “Five minutes.

He passes Marnie on the way back and she winks at him, gesturing to Geralt’s back with her head and he shakes his own violently at her, which causes her to giggle before turning to Ciri with a brush and a length of ribbon.

Sighing with exasperation, he follows Geralt out the door.

“So. Geralt.” He starts, looking the man up and down. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry.” Geralt looks him in the eyes this time, although he looks uncomfortable, and Jaskier’s words die in his mouth. “I’m sorry for what I said. You didn’t deserve it. I was angry, but that doesn’t excuse my actions.”

“No, it doesn’t.” His voice is hoarse. Because really, he wasn’t expecting this. “What got into you?”

“You wouldn’t forgive me. I just. Well, the presents. You weren’t accepting them. And maybe I spoke to Vesemir about it, and he uhh. Hit me over the head and said I needed to apologise with words too.”

“Smart man.” Jaskier nods. “Thank you. I accept your apology.”

The rush of relief that comes with the words almost has him buckling at the knees. But he stays standing, stays strong. “It’ll take us a while, to get back to how we were.” He starts. “But, thank you. I forgive you.”

He was still a dragon, still held his pride. But it wasn’t burning at him anymore. Wasn’t clawing at his throat, tearing it up with his words. He feels better for saying it even, giving Geralt his forgiveness, protective streak he had built around Geralt while they had been travelling previously before the fight flaring to life again.

His Geralt. His witcher. Ah, there it was. The familiar sweet ache in his bones. The one that kept the ache in his heart in line. Because even just being friends with Geralt would be enough for his instincts. And now it wasn’t battling with his anger, it fills his senses again and it’s like he comes back into himself. Becomes himself again.

He had missed being like this. His true self, one not a slave to instincts.

“Jask.” The name is hushed from Geralt’s lips as though he hadn’t meant to say it, but Jaskier can’t comment because he’s swept into a hug so strong his ribs would surely break had he not been a dragon.

“Miss me that much huh?” He tries to joke, for fear of revealing his feelings. He hadn’t planned for this at all, no matter how settled he now felt.

“Shut up. Of course I did.”

“Oh.”

“Yennefer told me to stop being an idiot so.”

“Ah yes, how is she?”

“Good.” They break away. “We decided to just stay friends. For Fiona’s sake. And because neither of us think our feelings are real. I didn’t miss her like I missed you.”

And Jaskier almost screams, because that sounds like a confession even though it isn’t one.

“Ah well. I’m glad you came to an agreement.”

“I’m glad you both get on. She said you were amicable now. It will make it easier when we meet up with her again. Fiona still needs training.”

“I’ll be glad to see her again.” He’s unsurprised to find he’s not lying. “And am I still permitted to travel with you then?”

“Ofcourse.”

“Okay.” He nods. “You don’t have to speak anymore. I know this must be hard.” The look of relief on Geralt’s face mimics how he feels and he smiles, unable to stop himself from patting Geralt on the shoulder. “Well be okay. Come on, come and meet Marnie. You’ll like her.”

“Another conquest?” His tone is dry again, not as heartfelt. But Jaskier understands.

“No, just a friend.”

“And we’re….. Friends.” Geralt says, tone still dull. Like Jaskier’s permission to not say anything had pushed him back to his usual way of speaking. Jaskier doesn't mind though. Knowing he needed it to be that way.

“We are. If you’ve finally got your head out of your ass.” He shoves at him, laughing when Geralt just growls and rolls his eyes.

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“Hmm, but i’m your pain in the ass now that you’ve admitted we’re friends. Come on, I can teach you how to braid Fiona’s hair for when i’m not there.”

“That won’t happen again.” Geralt just shrugs, and then goes into the tavern.

And Jaskier follows him, and desperately hopes he means it.


End file.
